A Summer Scandal (Seasons of Romance Book 3)

by Rachel Osborne

  “Where is she?” Juliet’s voice quavered and Edmund forced a smile, determined to reassure her, although he could not offer the answer she so desperately longed for.

  “Juliet! Edmund! There you are!”

  Mrs Brierley was standing to one side, speaking with a friend of hers, another broad, greying lady bedecked with finery. “I suppose you have come to find me, for it is time our party made for home.” She sighed. “You see what it is coming to when even the young people are ready to go home at such an hour as this.”

  “No, Auntie,” Juliet hurried, glancing at Edmund. “We are looking for Louisa. Have you seen her?”

  “Louisa?” Mrs Brierley cackled from behind her fan. “What is my mischievous young niece up to now? Are you sure she is not dancing? My niece, Mrs Whipple, is quite the most graceful dancer I have ever seen. And her hair shines so beautifully in the candlelight as she moves. Why, I would be quite jealous of her if I were younger...”

  “You have not seen her, then?” Edmund asked, forestalling yet more raptures of Louisa’s beauty that ordinarily would have provoked amusement in him.

  “I have not - Oh, look! There she is!” Mrs Brierley lifted her fan, waving over the heads of several other guests to attract Louisa’s attention.

  Juliet let go of Edmund and scurried forward, digging her fingers into Louisa’s arm in a way that made Edmund wince.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Enjoying the assembly!” Louisa retorted, wrenching her arm free and glaring at her sister. “Why the need for a search party?”

  “We were worried about you!” Juliet said, tugging at a crease in her skirts with vehemence.

  “You needn’t have been!” Louisa smiled. “Good evening, Auntie! What a wonderful night this has been. Edmund, why don’t you take Juliet for one more dance? She needs to burn off some of her energy and not direct it into worrying over people who do not need her concern.” She lifted her head and smiled, looking lighter and more like her old self than Edmund had seen her since their party’s arrival in London. “I am perfectly well.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A day or two after the assembly, Julie was pleased to finally secure some quiet time to herself, to think and to write.

  She had been floating since that evening when the tide had finally seemed to turn and Mrs Gale at last softened towards her. There had been no apology, but then Juliet had not expected one. There had been no true acknowledgement, either, of the unkindness she had subjected her soon-to-be daughter-in-law to, or the fact that it had been her intervention that had first separated the pair. Juliet was simply grateful to have an end to hostilities, though, and it had been a peculiar blessing to hear Mrs Gale praise her character and - more unbelievable, still! - her writing to a group of her most elegant friends.

  If word is to circulate that I am an author, I had better have something to show for my time! she thought, as, with a stern frown, she rearranged her writing implements on the small writing desk before her. She smoothed out a scrap of paper, but when inspiration did not immediately strike her, returned to the last pieces she had written, re-reading them with a critical eye and trying to sink back into the world her pen had created.

  Has the clock always ticked so loudly? She cast a critical eye to the mantel before returning to her work, massaging her temples and willing herself to concentrate.

  A muffled conversation at the door to the small library distracted her next, and she strained to hear, discerning her father and mother were recalling that she had asked not to be disturbed and thus they would retreat to the parlour and not bother her. With a groan, she sank forward on her desk, abandoning all attempts to write anything at all. Why was it that her mind could be tumbling with ideas one moment, usually when she was expressly unable to write a word, but when she carved out time specifically for the task, she could conjure nothing at all?

  Shuffling her papers together, she returned the whole to her writing case and stood, stalking towards the door and throwing it open, calling after her parents to wait.

  “Mama, Papa! I will join you.” She sighed, smiling ruefully. “I do not think I shall manage to write any more today.”

  “Oh, dear!” Mrs Turner tutted, sliding her arm around her daughter and walking as one down the narrow corridor. “I do hope we did not disturb you?”

  “No,” Juliet shrugged her thin shoulders. “I haven’t been able to concentrate all morning.”

  “Too many exciting things rumbling around that head of yours!” Mrs Turner beamed, and Mr Turner, behind them, harrumphed as if he did not agree with this assessment nor entirely approve of it.

  “Something like that,” Juliet confessed, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto her cheeks. She and her mother had taken the time the previous day, while the rest of the house slept off the effects of the assembly, to peruse the shops and she, at last, was making some progress towards having her trousseau completed. This was another concern lifted, for she did not like shopping the way Louisa did. Her sister had lent her talents the previous day, too, and seemed so much like her old self that any lingering concerns Juliet had felt towards Louisa on account of Mr Weston had also been somewhat alleviated. She still disliked the man and longed far more than was ladylike to sock him squarely in the jaw for the pain he had caused her flighty sister, but if Louisa did not seem to bear a grudge then it seemed entirely unnecessary for Juliet to.

  Perhaps it was never as serious as I gave it credit, she had told herself, recalling that Louisa seemed entirely capable of falling in love at the drop of a handkerchief, with any and every eligible, handsome young man she spied.

  “Where is Louisa?” she asked, now feeling as if she would rather like to include her sister in this familial hour, for their aunt and uncle were out visiting friends and had given the Turners the run of the house in their absence. As much as she loved her aunt and uncle, Juliet could not help but be selfish for her closest family members, conscious that, once married, their relationships would alter in a hundred small but significant ways.

  “Asleep,” Mr Turner said, sitting down and attending to his pipe, the use of which had been banned by his sister, but which he would quite contentedly smoke in her absence. “I have not yet seen her today.” His eyes twinkled with merriment, for Louisa’s habit of sleeping late was a source of perpetual teasing from her family when at home. Juliet had thought the excitement of being in London would put a stop to it, but by now the thrill of being in town had worn off and Louisa’s old habits had resurfaced.

  “We shall have you all to ourselves!” Mrs Turner remarked, reluctantly letting go of her hold on her daughter so that the ladies might sit and await the arrival of the tea things.

  Juliet smiled, unsurprised to see a glimmer of sadness in her mother’s usually merry face.

  “You act as if you are losing me, Mama! You know, even when I am married, that Edmund and I shall run over to Aston House just as often as he does now!” She laughed. “You shall never truly be rid of me!”

  Mrs Turner smiled, quite content with this suggestion.

  “I think it likely we may even see more of Mrs Gale, too, as she has at last seen fit to lower her defences and accept me as her son’s choice.” Juliet drew in a heavy breath, relishing the absence of the crushing weight on her shoulders that had been her mother-in-law’s opposition.

  “As well she ought!” Mr Turner remarked from his corner, clenching his teeth around the stem of his pipe.

  “Now, dear! You know that family is not always so agreeable as that. It can be difficult for us to loosen our grip on those we love.”

  Mrs Turner’s tone of voice was sanguine enough, but Juliet did not miss the significance of her words. Her mother understood, only too well, what it was to be at the mercy of one’s husband’s family. Aunt Brierley had never quite forgiven her brother for marrying the way he had chosen, although she had never openly criticised Mrs Turner the two women had never been close. Juliet slipped a hand around her mother’
s and squeezed in silent encouragement.

  “Well, we need not fret. At least now Mrs Gale seems to have resolved whatever concern she had about the marriage. The two of you looked quite comfortable together last evening -”

  Before Juliet could reply or anybody say more, the door opened to announce a guest, and Mr and Mrs Turner looked at each other with surprise as Mrs Gale herself was ushered into the cramped parlour.

  “Good day!” she declared, as the group greeted one another. “I hope you do not mind my arriving unannounced.” She turned to Juliet, a tentative smile on her face. “My son has absented himself for the day to go to his club.” She grimaced, as if the notion of spending a day in the club was more than she could countenance. “I wonder, then, if you might be willing to join me on a walk, Juliet? I know you are fond of it, and I am aching for some exercise.”

  This was perhaps the most honest and direct Juliet had ever known Mrs Gale to be, and she was so stunned she could think of nothing to say other than to agree. Desperately she glanced towards her mother, whose attention was on her teacup, offering no help. Juliet wavered. Whilst she and Mrs Gale had made progress at the assembly, she was not sure they would yet manage an hour’s conversation on a walk, without some assistance.

  “Perhaps my sister might care to join us, Mrs Gale, if you do not mind my inviting her?”

  “Oh, by all means!” Mrs Gale sat, gratefully receiving the cup of tea she was offered. “I shall take tea with your parents for a moment or two while you ask her, and then we shall depart.”

  Relieved, Juliet fled, taking the stairs two at a time and barely pausing to knock at Louisa’s door before flinging it open.

  “Lou, come out with me, won’t you?”

  She had uttered the question without looking and stopped short, surprised to find her sister’s room empty, the bed neatly made and the window left open for air. Juliet frowned. Louisa was not asleep, then, as Papa had presumed. She must have gone out very early. Juliet’s frown lessened. No, perhaps not. She had been closeted away at her work, abiding no distractions. Of course Louisa would merely have gone about her tasks without knocking or alerting her to her departure.

  Well, I am happy for her, Juliet thought. It was an encouraging sign that Louisa had found friends enough to go out with, and she would not begrudge her that, even though it now left Juliet with no alternative but to spend an hour with her soon-to-be mother-in-law entirely alone. Drawing a fortifying breath, she forced a smile onto her face and retraced her steps towards the parlour, determined to make the afternoon a success, even without Louisa’s assistance.

  EDMUND WANDERED THROUGH the streets of London, nodding greetings at acquaintances as he passed them but with no real destination in mind.

  He had gone out early, planning to call on Nash at his aunt’s house. His friend had not been at home, however, and it had cost Edmund a quarter-hour of polite conversation with Nash’s aunt before he could extract himself from her clutches and embrace his freedom once more.

  He was not entirely sure his vague wandering was truly embracing anything. With a sigh he consulted his watch and altered his course, walking with purpose towards his club. The club was the excuse he had given Mama, after all. Better to make it true by at least showing his face. It had been a while since he was last here, and he wondered, idly, who he might.

  Comfortably ensconced in a chair with a drink to nurse and any one of a dozen newspapers to read, Edmund felt the same rest that found him only in places like this. It was not home, but it was comfortable, the gentle sort of society with his peers and friends the kind that required little effort on his part.

  This afternoon the place was quiet, peppered with only a few older gentlemen avoiding their wives and talking business. He glanced towards the billiard table, seeing it occupied and looked back to his newspaper, feeling a strange pang of isolation. Edmund was not prone to loneliness, being agreeable and finding friends wherever he went, but this morning all those friends appeared otherwise engaged. I shall enjoy time alone, in that case, he told himself, trying desperately to engage his faculties with the opinion of the editor on matters in the Peninsula, and only serving to grow drowsy. He shot an angry look towards the hearth, where an unseasonably warm fire blazed and decided the heat was to blame for his lack of energy. Scooping up his drink and setting aside his newspaper he strolled towards the billiards table, exchanging pleasantries with the small group of gentlemen he saw hunched over there.

  “Gale!”

  Erasmus Finch, his old friend, barrelled past the crowd to embrace him, shaking his hand so thoroughly that Edmund felt his whole body jogged out of his stupor.

  “What are you doing here?” Finch’s eyes gleamed with interest, sensing a story. “I thought you were content always to remain in the countryside, demanding your friends come to see you when you could not be bothered to see them?”

  “You enjoyed my hospitality well enough,” Edmund retorted, taking a sip of his drink and recalling, with a grimace, the events that had conspired to encourage him to invite Erasmus, with others, to stay at Northridge to begin with. Had he ever truly entertained the idea of matching Madeline Turner with this man? He shook his head, dispelling the notion. No, Maddy had made her own choice and a far better one than either he or Juliet might have managed.

  He smiled a little, recalling the bet they had made, and how it had been an attempt, on his part, simply to turn Juliet’s mind to marriage, thinking, logically enough, that once she had matched her sister she would turn to her own future happiness. It had not happened quite like that, but still, he dared to think that the year would not be progressing as it was now, had they not made that first winter wager.

  “Aye, the country is all well and good for a visit, but for life?” Erasmus boomed, opening his arms wide as if to encapsulate the entirety of the club. “But come, you did not come here to debate modes of living, I am quite sure. What brings you to London, and what brings you here?” His eyebrows lifted as if on the scent of scandal. “I hear tell you are to be married, Gale. Tell me you are not tiring already of your wife before she is even legally that?”

  The idea that Edmund would trade time with Juliet for the smoky, stuffy interior of his club struck him as amusing and he swallowed a laugh, disguising it unsuccessfully as a cough.

  “No, I do not tire of her,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “But nor do I feel a compulsion to be forever by her side.” He gave Erasmus a shrewd look. “You know both Juliet and I value our freedom too much to hamper it in one another.”

  “Juliet.” Erasmus stroked the reedy beginnings of a beard. “I suppose I oughtn’t to be surprised you should marry her, for the two of you were a dreadful pair when we were all together at Christmas. Still, I can’t help but marvel you did not wait for the youngest sister. She was by far the prettiest.”

  Erasmus made a rolling grunt of laughter and Edmund felt entirely irritated by the suggestion that any young lady would be preferable to him than Juliet. He could not even distinguish his friend’s words as complimentary to Louisa, who he had grown still more protective of since Nash’s folly. The reminder of Louisa recalled the purpose of Edmund’s errand to him, and he straightened, downing the last of his drink and setting the glass down on a nearby table.

  “I don’t suppose you have seen Weston anywhere, have you?” He raked a hand through his dark hair, adjusting his collars and cuffs. “I have been halfway around London looking for the fellow this morning and turned up nothing.”

  Erasmus made an expansive shrug.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. He remained at Northridge long after I left, recall.” He glanced at Edmund out of the corner of his shifty eyes. “Why are you so desperate to find him? Does he owe you money too?”

  Edmund frowned, surprised to hear the bitterness in his old friend’s voice.

  “Money? No. Then has he -”

  “He did me out of my winnings on more than one occasion,” Erasmus grumbled, as if the notion of losing
money was almost more objectionable than the fact that he had lost it to someone claiming to be a friend. “I had heard he was back in London and thought at last that he would seek to make good on his debts but the fellow is doing his best to avoid me.”

  “He has a lot on his mind,” Edmund murmured, recalling the surprise he felt to hear of Nash’s engagement and the explanation that Weston’s aunt had been only too keen to labour that morning. My poor nephew has shirked his duties for too long but at last he has tired of running around the country with a gaggle of reprobate gentlemen. He seeks to settle into the marriage I ordained for him more years ago than I care to admit! This marriage was not Nash’s choice, then, for which Edmund could afford some sympathy, although that did not excuse his caddish behaviour around Louisa.

  If only I could find the man, I might learn the truth of the matter myself! he thought, adding a mental note to warn him that Erasmus was on the warpath and wished to have his money back, one way or another.

  “Well, let us not speak of our troubles, Gale,” Erasmus said, his mood lifting with the prospect of a drink with an old friend. “Come, you’ll have another brandy? And perhaps we shall give that chess set some exercise. I seem to recall our last match ended in a draw. Let us see if one or other of us can be the victor on this occasion...”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It had seemed like wisdom to suggest they met in one of London’s many parks, and Nash knew he ought to be grateful for the relative anonymity provided him by the crowd. Instead, he saw only more and more potential witnesses.

  They are not looking at me, he told himself. They do not even notice me!

  This was not entirely true, for he had caught the eye of several young ladies out walking with their beaux or mamas. He affixed a bland smile to his face and turned away, focusing on the pond and pretending to watch the ducks that swam across it.